


Take 2

by goobie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goobie/pseuds/goobie
Summary: Cho feels incredibly out of place.  She’s jumpy and nervous and really, really hoping that she doesn’t seem desperate.  Or weird.  Marcus ambles out of the locker room in sweatpants, coat open, a massive gym bag slung over his shoulder.“Hey,” he says, pushing through the turnstile with this effortless –- strength –- power, Cho thinks, feeling small.“Hi,” she squeaks.  Damn.
Relationships: Cho Chang/Marcus Flint
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Take 2

Cho is walking to class on a crisp October morning when she learns that a jogger found Cedric collapsed on the sidewalk. Her parents drive up that weekend to take her to the funeral, and Cho gazes blankly out the window at the grey, barren trees as they twist up New Hampshire back roads. Her father stares grimly at the road ahead, hands clamped tightly around the steering wheel. On the way back, her mother asks if she's considered taking a leave of absence. Cho shakes her head no, curled up in the rear passenger seat with the giant pink teddy bear Cedric won her at the state fair two summers ago.

Her first class after the funeral, at ten on Monday morning, her eyes fill with tears during her professor’s lecture on the complexity of literary meaning. She stares down at her notes, trying desperately to focus on Saussure, but instead she remembers seeing Cedric for the last time, lying in an open casket with his favorite navy suit on, hair swept up and back, and Mr. Diggory, chin crinkled, choking up as he tries to eulogize his son, and the biting New England air and skittering dead leaves at the cemetery, and a tear rolls down her cheek and lands heavily on her notebook, distorting her meticulous handwriting and dimpling the paper. Head bowed, she stands up, slipping behind her classmates. As soon as she closes the door to the back entrance of the lecture hall she leans against the wall by the radiator, pressing her palms to her mouth as she gasps for air.

She feels a hand on her shoulder and sees Millicent’s broad face, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Hey,” Millicent says, drawing Cho in for a gentle hug. “I heard about what happened.”

Cho shudders in Millicent’s arms, sniffing loudly. “I’m so sorry,” Millicent says softly. They stand in the narrow hallway for several minutes, sun streaming in through the window, the radiator clanking loudly. Cho pulls away, swiping her thumbs under her eyes. “You don’t need to be here,” Millicent says. “I can walk you back to your place, and Tracey takes great notes, I know she’ll be happy to share.”

Cho manages a weak smile. “I just…” she starts, “I want the distraction, I, I think. You know?” Millicent puts a hand on her hip, flexing her fingers. “If you’re sure,” she says, looking at Cho with concern. Cho nods, and they walk back into the lecture hall, a few students turning to look at Cho as she makes her way to her seat.

* * *

Cho gets through finals, somehow, feeling not normal but at least less – breakable, less likely to burst into tears when she walks into the coffee shop she and Cedric liked to study in. Feeling more like herself.

It’s late February when Millicent invites her to a party at the apartment she shared with Tracey and Daphne, and Cho –- deciding it isn’t early enough in the semester to believably say she needs to stay home and study –- agrees to come. She gets ready in the two-bedroom she shares with Marietta, curling her eyelashes for the first time in months and slinging her long hair into a ponytail she knows she’ll regret during the freezing half-mile walk to Millicent’s.

When she arrives, wine bottle in hand, the apartment is already crowded with a mix of Millicent’s friends from the track team and the artsy kids Daphne likes to hang out with. She talks with Millicent for a while, feeling silly at first with a red solo cup full of Malbec but relaxing as she pets Millicent’s cat, Mr. Hubert, who seems unbothered by the crowd. She heads back to the kitchen, squeezes behind a couple of guys who have to be shotput throwers, their huge arms and thick necks making an already tight space seem even smaller, and, finding her wine bottle empty, grabs a beer from the fridge before making her way back out of the crowded space.

She’s leaning against the wall in the hallway outside of the kitchen, pleasantly buzzed and laughing with Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria, who studies architecture, when someone very tall and thin rests his elbow near her shoulder and asks who she knows in the apartment. After a few minutes Astoria disappears to get another drink and the guy –- Adrian, he said his name was –- brings his face closer to Cho’s. He’s wearing a pilled flannel and tight black jeans and doesn’t seem to blink much. Cho’s sweater suddenly feels too warm and her mouth is dry -– she doesn’t like his eyes, the way he’s looking at her so intensely –- and as she turns her head to take another sip of her beer he brings his mouth to her neck and she doesn’t like it, she turns her head further away and puts her hand up to his chest –-

“Adrian,” says Millicent, arms crossed. Cho can see Astoria behind her, looking worried.

“Hey, Millie,” he responds, smirking down at her.

“How’s your night going?” Millicent asks, her tone less than friendly. Cho slips away, making awkward eye contact with Adrian once more as she rounds into the kitchen. She opens the fridge again, feeling slightly dizzy as she grabs another beer.

When she stands up, Millicent is looking at her, holding out a solo cup. “Sorry about that,” she says to Cho, rolling her eyes. “You should drink some water.” Cho laughs weakly and takes the cup. “Astoria came and got me,” says Millicent by way of explanation. “I wish Daphne would stop inviting that -– Pucey. She doesn’t seem to notice but he’s a fucking creep.”

Cho hums in agreement and leans back against the counter. She feels so tired, suddenly, and closes her eyes, but the room starts slipping sideways and she blinks them back open. Millicent looks at her wryly. 

“Lightweight, huh?” she asks. 

“I guess,” Cho yawns. “You know, I think I’m gonna head out. It’s not Adrian, but, uh, diminishing returns, you know?”

Millicent laughs. “I get it.” Looking across the kitchen, she makes eye contact with the guys Cho had squeezed behind earlier. Two of them are playing beer pong with a heavily pierced theatre student and her blonde girlfriend. “Hey, Marcus!” she calls, and one of them looks up from the table. He places the ping pong ball in his friend’s hand and walks over. 

“What’s up?” he rumbles, running a hand over his hair. 

“Can you walk Cho home?” Millicent asks. “She’s like a ten-minute walk from here, and it’s late, you know, and cold – I just want to make sure she gets back okay.”

“Oh,” starts Cho, “I mean, I’m fine –- I don’t want to be, like, a bother…”

Marcus looks at Millicent, then at Cho. He shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “Be back in twenty then.”

Cho follows him towards the hallway. He jerks his chin at his friends on the way out. “Don’t fucking lose, Greg.” 

“Yeah, whatever, errand boy,” Greg responds, and sinks his shot. The theatre girl swears.

“Your coat’s in the bedroom?” Marcus asks Cho, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, it’s uh, light blue. Puffy, has a hood?”

He digs through the pile on Tracey’s bed, grabbing his own jacket, then finding Cho’s puffer. He throws it to her.

“You walked here in those?”

Cho looks down at her boots, with their pointed toes and high block heels. Entirely impractical for walking on slushy sidewalks, but they look good. She looks good.

“Yeah,” she says, feeling a little defensive. She crosses her arms.

“Alright,” he chuckles. “Just checking.” She looks down at his boots, which are sturdy and well-worn. “You ready?”

Cho nods and they push their way through the crush of students crowding the front hallway. Adrian has his arm around Daphne’s shoulders, now. The quiet night air contrasts starkly with the boisterous apartment, and the fluffy snowflakes swirling downwards are illuminated by the orange glow of streetlamps. She breathes out, watching her breath fog around her. 

“You should hold on to my elbow,” Marcus says, offering it out. Cho’s giggle turns into a squeak as she slips and grabs on to him more tightly than she intends to. His lips quirk slightly. They walk carefully down the front steps, which are slick with melted snow and hurriedly scattered rock salt, then start picking their way through the half-frozen slurry on the sidewalk.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, snowflakes catching on Cho’s lashes and dusting Marcus’s shoulders. 

“Thanks for walking me home,” Cho says, looking down to make sure she doesn’t slip.

“I could use the fresh air,” responds Marcus. “And I might grab another six-pack on the way back.” 

They continue on, the quiet broken only by the whoosh of an occasional car and the explosive hiss of a passing buss.

“I’m Cho, by the way.” She needs a distraction from the cold and from her own thoughts, which have turned to the feeling of Adrian’s lips on her neck, making her shiver for a reason other than the cold.

“Marcus Flint.”

“You’re friends with Millicent?”

“Yeah. We train together. She kicks my ass and humiliates me, mostly.”

Cho laughs, having gone to the gym with Millicent a few times herself. As they continue to talk, Cho glances up at Marcus. He looks serious -– almost brutal –- under the fluorescent street lamps, but she feels safe, her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow, his steps steady and confident as she carefully picks her way through the slush. She feels her heart swell, a gentle unfurling in her chest, grabs on a little more firmly to his arm through his jacket. By the time they reach her building, she can’t help but think that the cold isn’t so bad, really.

“This is me,” she says, smiling up at him.

“Alright.” 

She lets go of his arm. “Thanks again,” she says, and then, feeling suddenly brave, “Can I give you my number?”

“Uh,” he says, sounding surprised, “Sure.” He pats his pockets, first his coat, then his jeans, and pulls out his phone. The snow has coated his hair and shoulders during the walk and he brushes it away as she types out her number. She hands the phone back to him. 

“Text me yours?” she asks.

“Sure.” He puts his hands in his pockets. 

She feels buzzed again, in a good way, as she walks up the stairs to her building.

“Hey,” Marcus calls. She turns to look at him. “Make sure you drink some water tonight, before you go to bed. A bunch of it. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Okaaay,” she replies, drawing out the word longer than she normally would. “Good night!”

“’Night,” says Marcus. He waits until she unlocks the building door, then, with a quick wave, turns back towards Millicent’s.

* * *

(12:18 am) Marcus

(12:25 am) **Haha thankss good nighttt**

(9:06 am) **Hey, thanks again for walking me home last night!**

(9:07 am) U got it

(9:40 am) **Hey!**

(9:49 am) **Would you want to get coffee this week? Maybe Thursday after 2?**

(9:50 am) **Friday at 10 works for me too**

(10:02 am) Sure

(10:02 am) Friday’s good

(10:02 am) Ive got training in the morning

(10:03 am) meet at gym at 10:05 ?

(10:05 am) **Sounds great!! Front entrance?**

(10:05 am) ya

(10:06 am) **See you then!**

* * *

Cho feels incredibly out of place waiting in front of the gym check-in desk, looking at her fingernails in an attempt to avoid making eye contact with the student workers, one of whom she thinks she recognizes from her freshman writing seminar. She’s jumpy and nervous and really, really hoping that she doesn’t seem desperate. Or weird. Marcus ambles out of the locker room in sweatpants, coat open, a massive gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, pushing through the turnstile with this effortless –- strength –- power, Cho thinks, feeling small.

“Hi,” she squeaks. _Damn._ But Marcus doesn’t laugh at her, although his stern expression transforms into something more gentle as he rubs the back of his neck with a large hand. 

“Where to?” he asks, and finally he smiles.

* * *

A few weeks later, Marietta laughs when Cho asks if it’d bother her if Marcus came over for dinner.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll just stay at Terry’s for the night.”

“Oh my god, I didn’t mean _that_!” protests Cho, blushing. “We’re going that party at Millicent’s tonight after, I just thought it’d be nice to do dinner first…”

Marietta shakes her head and smiles. “Right. Look, I was going over to Terry’s _anyway_ , so it’s not like, an imposition.”

Marietta’s out the door by five and Cho’s left in the apartment alone, tending to a vat of tomato sauce that’s bubbling like some witch’s brew when she adds the meatballs in. She’s got nothing left to do at this point, just waiting, pacing until the harsh drone of the buzzer jolts her to attention. She slips her shoes on and tries not to run _too_ quickly down the stairs. She can see Marcus waiting outside, hood up, coat open. She tucks her hair behind her ear –- immediately untucks her hair from behind her ear –- and pulls the door open. He steps in from the drizzle and wraps her in a hug that lingers just a little long before he lets her go and they walk up to her apartment.

They eat at the table in Cho’s room, the one she uses to study. Their knees touch -– it’s not a very big table –- and Cho feels it as if it were electric. At some point during the meal her fingers graze Marcus’s and she finds her small hand in his large one, his thumb brushing her knuckles as he smiles down at her.

They walk into Millicent’s party holding hands and Cho thinks that Millicent’s gleeful grin might have permanently turned her face pink. Marcus’s fingers ghost the small of her back whenever they stand near each other and by eleven they’ve both had enough of sharing themselves with other people. The drizzle has turned into a steady rain and Marcus slips an arm around Cho’s waist as she unfurls her umbrella, her arm stretched to make sure it doesn’t hit his head. They stand on the front steps for a moment before Marcus swallows, then says, “My place is right around the corner, if you want to get out of the rain more quickly…?”

Cho starts, looks up at him. “Okay,” she says, smiling, and they walk down the front steps and turn left, this time, the opposite direction from her apartment.

The walk to Marcus’s apartment is quick –- maybe three minutes –- but it feels longer to Cho, her fingers gripping the crook of Marcus’s arm and her heart in her throat. She follows him up the stairs to his walk-up brownstone, then up the tight, winding staircase until he’s fumbling with the lock to his unit, his keys in one hand, her hand in the other.

He opens the door and flicks the light on, still holding her hand as he throws his keys on a chair. She’s looking up at him and he swallows, throat bobbing, and then he’s leaning towards her. She closes her eyes and his lips brush hers, slightly chapped and still cold at first from the air outside. When he pulls away she feels his breath puff across her face and she leans into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kisses him back. 

Her coat is suddenly _in the way_ and she tangles herself in her rush to take it off. He laughs gently, holds it so that she can slip out of it, and tosses it on the chair as well. He sheds his coat and pulls off his hoodie. It lifts his t-shirt and she sees a dark dusting of hair on his abdomen before he pulls his shirt back down and his lips are on hers again. His thumb rubs behind her ear and she can’t help it, she _moans_ as she presses into him.

They break apart and he takes her hand, pulling her purposefully out of the front hallway into his bedroom. She perches cross-legged on the edge of the bed as he closes the door and clicks on a lamp, washing the room in a warm glow. The bed creaks as he sits down next to her. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his hand cupping her cheek.

“I…” she starts, caught off guard and unsure if anyone has ever called her beautiful. “I really like you, Marcus,” she whispers. He laces his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, cradling her head, and as he kisses her again, this time, she melts into him, her hands on his chest as they lean back on the bed.

* * *

When she wakes up his apartment is quiet and she’s lying alone in bed, his bed, wondering if she’s gauged this terribly wrong, somehow, chasing the possibilities around her head until she hears a clang from the kitchen and her pulse slows back down. She swings her legs to the side of the bed and grabs one of his massive t-shirts from the floor, pulls it over her head. When she stands up it falls to her thighs. She pads into the kitchen, bare feet cold on unfamiliar floors, and he’s leaning over the stove.

“Hey,” she says, leaning against the doorframe and feeling _shy_ again. She twists the hem of his shirt between her fingers.

His eyes dart up. “Hey.” He smiles. “Nice shirt.”

He ambles over and snakes an arm around her waist, drops a kiss on her head. “Good morning.”

She leans her cheek against his chest and feels the warmth of his skin through his shirt. She exhales, wrapping her arms around him as she closes her eyes. His thumb traces up her back and she relaxes, feeling, for the first time in months, certain.


End file.
